Thanks for the Memories
by Syberina5
Summary: Who says inanimate objects don't have feelings?


Sorry to post and run but real life is killing me right now and I've refused to let myself anywhere near NOL to help keep me focused on all the work I have to do right now. But I got this idea that wouldn't go away so I figured if I pounded it out I could get back to work. It isn't very long so my conscience isn't up in arms yet.

It's a super-short and nothing you'll expect. I hope you like it.

Sy5

PS. I miss this place. Take care.

Thanks for the Memories

It had hurt when that piece of my world collapsed on me with the ceiling. The air had rushed out and the dirt and smoke covered me, soiling every exposed inch and making me foul with its stench.

I was very angry with Sonny for causing this. He had never liked me despite all the things I'd done to please him. They were many and constant. I let him use and abuse me for his pleasure and for his ire.

I remember the day he ordered me out of his home. He'd barely known me and had decided I was worthless to him and to be tossed out. Where I landed was of no concern to Sonny. I thought he was cold and unfeeling. Ice must surely run through his veins to treat me so.

But he'd changed his mind I thought. We'd grown closer. I was sure of it when he took his precious food off my body. What an experience that was.

Then he'd rage, he'd throw things at my feet, kick me in frustration. It as enough to make me cry. Would he have heard me, would he repent and love me as before...as I only thought he did?

Oh, the things I could feel....

The sex was good. The rocking could be slow or furious, tender, free. Sometimes it was just a caress that would set the shivers in, then the moaning. Sometimes he could make it to the bed, or the stairs, but I was happiest when he just pushed onto me. Like I said, the sex was good, the love was better.

When the child came out to play it was always so sweet. Little Michael would run airplanes or boats, dinosaurs, trucks, cookies over me and have them take off into the air and Sonny would swoop him up and fly him around the room. I felt he could pick me up too and carry me about that way. Would he have if I'd asked? The laughter was boundless, when it would bounce off the walls and sink into me. All the sounds around me I'd absorb, take into myself, and store them there.

Even the fighting wasn't unpleasant. Screaming matches or firing tempers, passions all welcomed in our home. Disagreements that lasted days or only tense moments before laughter again flowed around my world. It was because they never lasted that endured them so well. A time or two I would get nervous that amends would not be made, my family would be separate forever but it always returned, that laughter.

Our idyllic existence was not to last. The love, the family I'd worked so hard to build, all the pain I'd endured, the rejection lead as it always seems to ...to abandonment.

I'd been crushed, broken, and it was his fault. My little family ripped painfully away and I blame Sonny. He did it. Viciously trying to cause all of us as much pain as possible.

As if that wasn't enough he brought the ceiling down on me, an explosion that drove the reek of it into the weave of my soft flesh.

No longer something he could put up with in his home he had me dragged out with the rubble and left in a trash heap.

Sitting here, surrounded by disgusting debris, I'm forced to think over my days, the halcyon days of splendor, of laughter and home, the days of disillusionment and pain. Sometimes I wish Carly had never brought me home to that place. Never ended my torture on the show room floor, the constant teasing parade of possible homes. Sometimes I'm glad that at least of have those glorious memories to hold on to as I decay in this glorified open air grave. I know that Sonny grew to love me as he grew to love the woman who brought me into his life, though he never said as much in my presence. On bad days I hate Sonny Corinthos for letting me love my family and home then destroying them, destroying me and deserting me as garbage, wreckage to be got rid of.

Just as he did the family we shared.

Then I remember those few last few moments, through the pain and the weight of the ceiling on top of me I heard them talk, caress. I heard the desperation as she searched for him. He'd left her, shunned her, but returned to free her from the man with the gun. She was not angry when she saw him. He chastised her as he always did for not doing as he said but when he held her there was such relief in the room my pain began to go away too. How he held her, took care of her, panicked when she passed out.

I knew their latest fight would soon relax again into laughter, my family soon complete again.

I know, despite how he tossed me, any affection for me and the memories i _he_ /i had of me, that he still has our family.

I pray he keeps them, loves them—as he did not me—and that someday when they sit and remember the days of yore they remember me. I know I shall always remember them.


End file.
